Learning Curve
by Loves History
Summary: William Tavington is accustomed to having his own way, most of the time, but when Caroline Jenkins crosses his path his ordered life in thrown into chaos.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! It's been a long time, but I'm back again. I know some of you are wondering where all my other stories went to, but I took them down with the intention of reviewing and refreshing them. Alas, it has not happened yet, but hopefully sometime in the future I will get them reposted. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this story!**

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**Learning Curve **

**~x~**

**Chapter One**

**May 1780**

It was hot, stiflingly hot, but Colonel William Tavington ignored the beads of sweat on his brow. He stood ramrod straight with his arms locked behind his back, his feet slightly apart, watching while his men lined up for a routine inspection. Normally he left this to his two captains, Bordon and Wilkins, but Lord Cornwallis himself wished to inspect the troops later that same day. Every man's uniform would be thoroughly inspected, right down to the brass buttons. The cavalry were considered to be the elite of his majesty's forces and William would ensure to drive that belief into his newest recruits.

"So, this is the best Britain has to offer," William commented to Thaddeus Bordon standing beside him.

"They are more promising than they look, sir," Thaddeus replied. Although he was slightly shorter than the colonel, his broad shoulders and thick-set chest made as equally imposing as his commanding officer.

"We shall see," William said idly and walked towards the first man in the line.

William's cold blue gaze scrutinised the first dragoon in line from head to toe. His brown hair had been scraped back, tied into a queue, and covered in a layer of lard to keep it in place for only heaven knew how long. It was a disgusting practice in William's view; he, like other aristocrats, was meticulous about his appearance and groomed himself daily. The rest of the private's uniform was spotless, even his boots and buttons had been polished to William's satisfaction. Continuing on down the line of men, he carried out the same thorough check, only having to reprimand two privates for a slovenly turnout – Bordon would deal with them later.

The morning continued slowly as the dragoons presented arms and horses for inspection; all of it had to be nothing short of immaculate. As the sun reached its highest point in the cloudless sky, William dismissed the men to make final preparations for Lord Cornwallis' arrival. With a slight nod of his head, he motioned for Bordon to follow him. They walked from the stables, striding through the crowded streets towards a grand townhouse. It had been granted by Cornwallis as temporary headquarters for the Dragoons in Charlestown. William gave little care to the fate of its previous occupants; after all, they had been traitors to the crown.

British forces were sweeping through the rebellious colonies, swiftly crushing all those who dared to take up arms against King George. William, however, had not accepted a command position out of a deep sense of conviction, although some had. It was necessity that had brought him halfway across the globe. Victory in war led to advancement through the ranks, but more importantly, spoils of war could make a man rich. His late father had squandered his inheritance on foolish exploits and gambling; it was only his commission in the army that had kept him from sinking into the depths of poverty.

William strode down a hallway towards the library. He had chosen to use it as his office partly due to its large windows, but a hidden stairway that led directly into his bedroom had settled the matter for him. Opening the door, he took several steps into the library then stopped abruptly.

"Sophia, what are you doing in here?" he said, narrowing his eyes slightly at a small, dark haired girl sitting on a chair behind his desk. "I've told you before to stay out of my office."

"I know, Papa, but I was bored." She gave a sullen pout. "There's nothing to do here."

"Nonsense, I gave you plenty of books to read. Now, get out of my chair and go upstairs, the captain and I have work to do."

Sophia leaned to one side so she could see around her father, smiling as she waved to Thaddeus. "Hello, Tad."

"Sophia!" William said sternly.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I hear all of his friends call him Tad."

"_You_ are not his friend, and you would do well to remember that in future." He motioned with his hand for her to get out of his chair. "Now, go."

"Can't I stay? I'll read in the corner and be really quiet," she said, her blue eyes pleading with him.

William glowered at her, warning her that this was not a matter up for discussion. With an over exaggerated sigh, she conceded and slipped from the chair. Her shoulders were slumped and she dragged her feet as she walked to the door. Pausing by Thaddeus, she looked up him, offering him a sweet smile.

"There's no point in trying that old trick on the Captain," William said, a sharp edge present in his voice. "Upstairs. Now. Or else you will feel the sting of my hand on your backside."

At the threat of corporal punishment, Sophia hurried from the room, closing the door behind her. William tugged at each individual finger of his black leather gloves to remove them then tossed them carelessly onto his desk.

"She is a charming little thing, sir," Thaddeus said as he sat down on a seat opposite William's.

"That is exactly what she wants you to believe," William scoffed as he poured himself a glass of gin.

Thaddeus' mouth quirked into a hint of a smile.

"Drink, Bordon?"

"Yes, thank you, sir."

William handed him a glass then sat down. Maps and missives littered his desk, along with several letters from his family in England. His mother still resided in their family home, although it had been stripped bare of most of its furnishings to pay off his father's debts. His one comfort was that his two younger sisters had made good matches before the Tavington name had been disgraced.

He took a sip of his gin, savouring the taste, followed by a burning sensation as it slid down his throat. Setting the glass down, he gathered some papers up to put into a drawer, including a missive from Banstre Tarleton, which had been scribbled over in childish handwriting. He let out an exasperated sigh; that girl walked a thin line. Sometimes he wondered why he had not simply left her in England with his mother. The truth, though, was that he loved her too much, and as unconventional as raising her alone was, he wouldn't have it any other way. She was the only good thing that had come from a marriage to a woman whose heart had been as cold as the grave she now resided in. He had not mourned her passing and he doubted if Sophia even remembered her.

Placing the letters into a drawer, he closed it and lifted his glass again. "Have we had any word from our scouts yet?"

"None yet, sir; my men are not due back until tomorrow."

"I want them debriefed as soon as they return and their reports on my desk by tomorrow evening."

"Of course, sir."

"I suspect, though, we will be in Charlestown for some time." William leaned back in his chair. "With any luck those rebels will spend the summer licking their wounds."

Thaddeus nodded his head in agreement. "Indeed."

At that moment there was a knock on the door. "Come in," William said.

"Sir, a letter has just arrived from Lord Cornwallis."

"Well, don't just stand there, Lieutenant, bring it here."

The scrawny officer, not more than nineteen, bustled into the library and handed the letter over. He acknowledged Thaddeus then made a swift exit. William broke the wax seal, opened the letter, and began to read.

"Typical," he said disdainfully, "His lordship has decided to forgo an inspection in preparation for a ball being held in his honour this evening."

"Are we expected to attend?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

William crumpled up the letter and threw it into a wastepaper basket beside his desk. It was a wonder the British army ever won any battles at all; its officers were more obsessed with parties, whoring, and gambling than waging war.

"I shall go and tell the men to stand down," Thaddeus said, rising from his chair.

"Stay where you are, Bordon." William pushed his chair back, stood up and walked over to a window. He opened it and leaned out. "Lieutenant Hawkins, tell the men to stand down."

"What about the inspection, sir?" Hawkins called back.

"Cancelled. Now, get on with it."

"Right away, sir."

Thaddeus smirked slightly at William's somewhat unorthodox manner. He had perfected the art of striking fear into his subordinates and at times it was rather amusing to watch. He had served under the Colonel for several years, after being transferred from another cavalry regiment. For some reason William had treated him differently from the beginning, although Thaddeus suspected it was due to their similar age and his intolerance for nonsense. He would not go as far to say that they were friends, but they certainly held a mutual respect for one another.

After shutting the window, William poured himself another glass or gin and returned to his seat. "Help yourself, Bordon; it's going to be a long night."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Pick up your pace, Sophia," William said irritably. "I don't have time for your dawdling."

Sophia stopped walking and looked up at him. "I'm tired, Papa, I want to go back to the house."

"_You_ were the one who pleaded with me to let you come into town," he said, giving her a gentle shove forward. "Perhaps this will teach you not to question my judgement in future."

She let out a long sigh and began to follow him again through the busy streets, keeping a tight hold of his hand. Half-running to keep up with his long strides, her legs soon grew tired again, but she knew better than to slow down for a second time.

Soon they arrived at a tannery, owned by a man named Alexander Craig. Sophia's father led her into the shop and she wrinkled her nose at the overpowering smell of leather. Sword belts, holsters, and pistol buckets hung from nails on the wall, while the floor was littered with water buckets, portmanteaus, and trunks, as well as saddles and all the parts of harness for horses and vehicles.

"Ah, Colonel Tavington," Mr Craig said, setting down a bridle awl and the piece of leather he was working on. "Good morning to you and to you, Miss...?"

"Sophia Tavington," William said, "My daughter."

Mr Craig smiled at her. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He turned his attention to William. "I have your saddle ready, Colonel, and I think you will find it's to your satisfaction."

William nodded. "I'll take a look at it now."

"John," Mr Craig called and a lanky boy came in from another room. "Bring me the Colonel's saddle."

"Yes, Mr Craig."

While John disappeared into the back, William bent down and whispered in his daughter's ear. "There's a bench outside the door, wait there until I'm finished dealing with Mr Craig."

"Yes, Papa."

William watched her exit the shop and sit down. Her legs dangled from the bench and she placed one hand on top of the other on her lap – it wouldn't last for long, though; she'd be fidgeting within three minutes. At only six, he wondered if he sometimes expected too much from her. But then he was reminded of her mother and how she had been a spoilt brat from birth, and he would be damned if Sophia turned out to be like her.

Cicely Daventry had been a woman of incredible beauty and he had gladly taken her as his wife. At first, he had basked in his good fortune, but he had soon discovered that beneath her smooth, creamy skin lay a self-centred harpy. Sophia had been born a month before their first anniversary, and in truth, he had been disappointed with a daughter. He had hoped that next time Cicely would provide him with an heir, but after learning she shared the beds of other men, William refused to touch her.

Three years had already passed since Cicely's untimely death, but William still clung onto bitterness. He had never loved his wife, though that had not lessened the sting of her betrayal – she had died carrying another man's bastard.

"Here it is, Colonel," Mr Craig said, snapping William from his melancholic thoughts.

William ran his hand over the newly polished leather. It had been skilfully crafted and he noted the fine detail in the stitching. Mr Craig had been right, it did meet expectations. His current saddle had begun to show signs of wear, and he thought it wise to break in a new saddle _before_ riding into battle.

It wasn't long before William had paid Mr Craig for the saddle in full and arranged for it to be delivered to the Dragoon's stables in the morning. His business complete, he turned and left the shop. As he had expected, Sophia was not waiting patiently for him on the bench. He walked around the side of the shop, but there was no sign of her.

"Sophia?" he called. "Where are you? Come here now!"

Receiving no answer, he walked around the back of the shop and down the other side. He scanned the street in front of him, hoping to catch a glimpse of her dark hair and yellow gown. An awful, gut-wrenching feeling began to churn his insides.

Where was his daughter?


	2. Chapter 2

**Firstly, I am so sorry that it's take me this long to get another chapter posted! Life, as usual, got in the way. Just a quick thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, as well as adding it to their favourties and alerts! It has made me smile!  
**

**Now, on with the show...Enjoy!  
**

**Chapter Two**

Caroline ran her fingers almost covetously along a length of teal silk folded neatly on the shop counter. Margaret Hunter was the finest Mantua-maker in Charles Town and women paid handsomely for one of her gowns. It was not only the imported fabric from London that caused women to part with their money, but also the quality of the cut, fit, and stitching. Caroline sighed longingly as she looked around the shop, eyeing the shifts, cloaks, and hoods on display. Some of the items would cost her a month's living, while a silk taffeta gown could cost as much as fifteen pounds – a scandalous amount of money for a woman in her position.

With only one hundred pounds a year to live on, Caroline could not afford to be frivolous with her money. Of course, she lived well, better than most; she even had two servants in her employment, Mr and Mrs Miller. Her father had hired them twenty years ago when they had first arrived in Charles Town from England. After the death of her parents, however, Caroline had to let the servants go, but she could not part with the Millers.

"Found them!"

Caroline turned around and saw Margaret emerge from a room annexed to the back of the shop.

"I knew I hadn't thrown them out," she said with a triumphant smile on her face

"I'm glad you didn't," Caroline said, relieved. "Mrs Henry would stir up a hornet's nest if I told her you would have to come out to measure her again."

Margaret arched an eyebrow. "That's putting it mildly". She ran a coarse finger down the list of measurements, muttering to herself.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Caroline's mouth. Mary Henry was a wealthy, old widow whose scorpion-like tongue had earned her an infamous reputation in Charles Town. It was even rumoured by some that she had tormented her poor husband so much she sent him to an early grave. Unfortunately for Caroline, Mr Henry had been the patron of her father's shipping business, and like her older sister before her, Caroline had been tasked with being Mrs Henry's companion. The woman believed she was the final authority on everything, including Caroline. However, she was keenly aware that there was one subject Mrs Henry had always avoided: marriage.

Seduced at the tender age of fifteen by a silkily manipulative fortune hunter, she had been cajoled into eloping with him. But her father had uncovered the plot only days before the intended elopement was to take place. Realising he would never see a penny of Caroline's inheritance, the blackguard had fled, leaving her alone, and with child. Disgraced, she had been packed off to England where she had spent the rest of her pregnancy confined in a small cottage in the countryside. After the birth of a healthy daughter, she was forced to give the baby up, returning to Charles Town four months later under the pretence that she had been visiting with relatives.

Back under the protective, watchful eye of her father, Caroline had devoted herself to studying in an attempt to numb the pain of her broken heart. Yet despite every effort to keep her seduction and subsequent pregnancy a secret, rumours circulated throughout Charles Town like wildfire.

She had been ruined.

"It was the vermilion fabric with the gold trimming, wasn't it?" Mrs Hunter asked.

Caroline, drawn from her dark thoughts, looked at Margaret. "Pardon me?"

"The vermilion fabric –"

"Oh...ah...yes, that's right."

"Very good. " Margaret scribbled a note under the measurements. "Oh, I have Mrs Henry's cloak ready, though heaven only knows why she needs a new cloak in the height of summer."

A full smile spread across Caroline's lips. "My sister tried to figure her out for years; I gave up before I even started."

Margaret laughed. "They say Lord Cornwallis is a tactical genius, perhaps Mrs Henry will finally meet her match in him."

"That _would_ be something worth seeing."

After a few minutes, Margaret had parcelled up the cloak and marked in a ledger that the garment had been paid for in full.

"Thank you, Mrs Hunter."

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Miss Jenkins." She frowned slightly. "You take care of yourself now."

"Don't worry, Mrs Hunter." Caroline placed a hand lightly over her chest and lowered her voice. "I always carry a pistol with me."

Margaret's eyes widened and Caroline chuckled to herself as she picked up the parcel and walked to the door. She rather enjoyed teasing the older woman. Of course, she did carry a pistol with her, but in a drawstring reticule, not tucked down her stays.

Outside the shop, one of Mrs Henry's slaves, Reuben, waited patiently for her. On any other occasion, Caroline would have happily walked through Charles Town by herself, but Mrs Henry would not hear of it. She insisted she take Reuben with her. He was almost as old as Mr Miller, but he was at least a foot taller and built like an ox. As far as Caroline knew, Reuben had been born on the Henry plantation some thirty miles outside of Charles Town. Indeed, he was his mistress' most trusted slave and she never travelled anywhere without him.

"Is dat you all done, Missus Jenkins?"

"Not yet, I want to call into the bookshop on Rutledge Avenue."

Reuben nodded and reached for the parcel in her arms. "I's carry dat for you."

"Thank you," Caroline said softly.

She turned and walked down the bustling street, Reuben following several paces behind her. As she wove her way through the heaving streets, passing market stalls, being careful to avoid making eye contact with the vendors, her thoughts drifted to the ball she had attended the night before. Originally, Caroline had had no intention of attending the party being given in Lord Cornwallis' honour, but as usual, Mrs Henry had gotten her way.

For the most part, Caroline had amused herself by watching the other guests interact with one another. Women in elaborate gowns had whispered amongst each other, no doubt gossiping about the latest scandals around town. Men talked animatedly about politics and war, while others, both male and female, had focused their attention on seeking out a willing partner for the evening. And it had seemed that the presence of British officers in Charles Town had sparked off a fresh wave of 'scarlet fever'. As for Caroline, she had quietly admired several officers from a safe distance, ever conscious that she did not belong in that world; after all, it was Mrs Henry who had received the invitation – not her.

"Missus Jenkins, is you all right?"

Caroline, having been jolted from her thoughts, felt Reuben's strong hand on her arm, steadying her. Looking down, she saw a small girl in a yellow gown pick herself up from the ground. Quickly shaking off Reuben's firm but gentle hold she bent down, worried that she had caused the girl harm.

"Are you hurt at all?" Caroline asked softly.

The girl shook her head and her lip began to quiver. "I can't find my papa."

"Oh, dear, where did you last see him?" Caroline placed a reassuring hand on the girl's arm.

She pointed past Caroline's shoulder. "Over there."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Caroline gave a small smile. "What is your name?"

"Sophia."

"My name is Caroline. Do you want me to help you to find your father?"

Sophia nodded.

"What is his name?"

Biting her lip, Sophia thought for a moment. "I call him Papa, but everyone else calls him Colonel Tavington."

Caroline's eyes widened slightly. Tall, lean, and impeccably presented, he had easily been the most handsome man at the ball the previous evening. Several women had spent the entire evening flirting shamelessly with him, but he had seemed wholly uninterested in their advances. In fact, he had even yawned during a one-sided conversation with a young lady. At one point, Mrs Henry must have caught her watching him. She had leaned closer, whispering she should not let the colonel's handsome looks deceive her...

Removing the image of Tavington from her mind, Caroline said, "Where do you live, Sophia?"

"In a big house."

"Can you remember if there are any other buildings nearby, a church maybe?" Caroline asked patiently.

Sophia bit her lip again. "There's a clock in a tower."

Caroline smiled. The nearest clock tower was in Anson Street, which was less than ten minutes walk from where they were. Hopefully it was the right street, and if it wasn't, she would take Sophia back to Mrs Henry's house and have a letter sent to directly to General O'Hara's office. Surely he would be able to contact the Colonel.

After instructing Ruben to return to Mrs Henry's house, Caroline set off in the direction of Anson street, holding on to Sophia's hand tightly. A twinge of anger rose within her as she walked, wondering what kind of a man would allow a little girl to wander off; Charles Town was renowned for its unscrupulous characters, as she was all too aware of.

Ten minutes later, the pair turned a corner on to Anson Street and almost immediately Sophia pulled on Caroline's hand.

"That's it!" Sophia said. "That's the house!"

Relieved, Caroline nevertheless kept a firm hold of Sophia's hand until they reached the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch. Sophia bounded up them and opened the front door. Caroline followed and entered the hallway just as Sophia opened her mouth to announce her return.

"Papa! Papa!" she shouted. "I'm home, Papa!"

Heavy footsteps sounded from the parlour and Caroline felt her pulse quicken. She quietly scolded herself; a man like Colonel Tavington would never spare her a second glance. A moment later, the parlour door opened and she was filled with a mixture of relief and disappointment.

"Captain Bordon," Sophia said, smiling. "Where's my Papa, I want to tell him I'm back."

Though his face remained impassive, it was obvious Bordon was somewhat confused. He looked from Sophia to Caroline, then said with a trace of suspicion, "Who are you?"

"Miss Caroline Jenkins," she said. "I found Sophia in the street; she had become separated from her father. Is the colonel here?"

"No, he has not returned yet," Bordon said, casting a significant glance at Sophia. He turned on his heels abruptly and walked towards a room, flinging open the door. "Procter, go into town and locate Colonel Tavington – tell him his daughter is at the house."

"Yes, sir."

While Proctor readied himself, Bordon turned his attention back to Caroline and Sophia. "Thank you, Miss Jenkins, for bringing Miss Tavington back safely. I shall be sure to pass on your kindness to the colonel."

Caroline nodded. "Thank you, Captain." She gently touched Sophia's tangled black hair. "It was lovely to meet you, Sophia, perhaps we –"

"You're not going already, are you?" Sophia said. "Can't you stay, just for a little while? Please!"

Lifting her gaze to Bordon, Caroline silently sought his permission; it was given with the slightest nod of his head. She smiled and looked down at Sophia. "All right, but I can only stay for a short while."

Sophia squealed with excitement and grabbed Caroline's hand, leading her into the parlour. It was a luxuriously furnished room; no doubt the colonel had reserved this room for his own personal use. Caroline sat down on a chaise longue while Sophia made herself comfortable in a large wing back chair. Within minutes, a maid entered the room carrying a tray with two teacups, sugar, and milk on it. She sat it down onto a small, round table and after she had served the tea she bobbed a curtsy then left.

"Mary makes the best tea," Sophia said, taking a sip from her cup. "She helps me get dressed and washed, too, and sometimes she even reads to me. But she's not allowed to have tea with me – Papa said he doesn't pay her to drink tea."

"Indeed," Caroline said, imagining the colonel's face if he heard she regularly drank tea and ate meals with Mr and Mrs Miller. "What about your mother, surely she drinks tea with you."

Sophia's face dropped and Caroline immediately knew she had said the wrong thing.

"My mother is dead."

Heat crept up Caroline's neck. "I'm sorry."

A flash of something, hurt perhaps, crossed Sophia's face. "I don't want to talk about her."

Quickly changing the subject, Caroline was soon listening intently to an animated tale about a mouse that had wreaked havoc in the kitchen the previous day. She laughed as Sophia recounted hearing the cook and maids scream, while a footman had raced to their rescue.

"We didn't get dinner until _eight_ o'clock last night!" Sophia said, wide eyed. "I was starving, but I got to stay up until half past nine."

"My, my," Caroline said, "That mouse caused quite the uproar."

"It did, and do you know what Papa said? He said that –"

At that moment, the front door opened.

"SOPHIA!"

**...**

William unbuttoned his jacket and threw it at the footman who had rushed to greet him at the front door. His fury towards his daughter was only barely surpassed by his relief that she was safe. The tension in his stomach still lingered, though; he had never been so panic-stricken in his life.

"Colonel!"

Looking up, William saw Bordon striding towards him. "Where is she?"

"In the parlour, she's –"

William charged past Bordon and flung open the door to the parlour, his last thread of control snapping as he locked gazes with his daughter. "How dare you run off on me," he fumed, "When I gave you express instructions to wait for me. Do you have any idea what you put me –"

"Excuse me, Colonel, but I don't think shouting at your daughter will help matters."

William turned his head, his steely gaze boring into a refined yet very plain woman. "Who the bloody hell are you?" he demanded.

"Her name is Caroline, Papa, and she –"

William rounded on Sophia. "_You_ will be quiet."

Sophia shrank back into the chair, duly warned.

Turning his attention back to Caroline again, he asked threateningly, "Well, who are you?"

He saw the woman's hands tremble, yet her voice remained clear, strong. "Miss Caroline Jenkins – I found your daughter, _alone_, and brought her back here."

Clenching his fist, William did not appreciate her accusation that he had been careless with his daughter's well-being.

"Sophia," he said without looking at her. "Go up to your room and wait for me there, I will be up shortly."

Slinking off the chair like a scolded puppy, she left the parlour without a word of protest

"You are free to go now, Mrs –"

"Miss," Caroline corrected him.

"Well then, _Miss_ Jenkins, kindly see yourself out," he said in a mocking tone. "Oh, and see that Bordon gives you a shilling for your trouble."

"Excuse me?" she said, affronted.

A hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It's a shilling or nothing; I'm not prone to negotiating."

"I did not bring your daughter back for a reward, Colonel." Caroline could feel her temper boiling. "Only a heartless person would have left a child to wander the streets on their own."

William's face darkened. "You know nothing about me, so do not presume to judge me."

"Well said, Colonel; perhaps you should consider taking your own advice."

"Get out," William said through clenched teeth.

"Gladly."

Moments after she left, Bordon came into the parlour.

"Who let that _woman_ into this house?" William demanded.

"I did, sir." Bordon did not flinch under William's glower. "She _did _bring your daughter back and Miss Tavington insisted she stay for tea."

William snorted. "Of course she would." Pouring himself a glass of brandy, he said, "What do you know of this Jenkins woman, Bordon?"

"Not much, but I can find out more on her if you wish?"

William gave a short, sharp laugh. "God, no; I never want to see the woman again."


End file.
